


Shoot First, Other Couples Later

by jackjones47



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-21 18:20:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7398439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackjones47/pseuds/jackjones47
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which some things are the same, other ones are different. But Shoot  never changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Hit

**Author's Note:**

> Some time ago I wrote a fanfic (“A spinoff for Amy and Sarah”) involving two characters: Shaw, played by Sarah Shahi (since she didn’t die in the POI universe), and Root’s twin, played by Amy Acker (since Root is, alas, dead in POI).
> 
> That was, of course, an attempt to imagine our two wonderful actresses interacting again, also in a romantic way, even after Root’s demise.
> 
> But we could maybe have Shoot again? I thought about the theory of Multiverse, that is, multiple (infinite?) universes exist, and maybe there are only slight differences between two of them.
> 
> In the universe I imagined, there are no artificial intelligences, Shaw works with the Intelligence Support Activity, which takes care of relevant threats (that is, regarding national security), relying on information gathered the old fashioned way, and Root is a hacker and a killer for hire, but has moral standards.
> 
> After a while, they cross paths and … four alarm fire in a nuclear plant!

New York, April 3th 2017.

Not even her mother would have recognized Samantha Groves, a.k.a. Root; not today, at least.

She was in a diner downtown, wearing a grayish-haired wig, blue contact lenses, and outdated glasses; her cheeks were stuffed with wadding, she had an olive complexion and two ugly moles on her face. 

The moles are always a fine touch, she thought: they attract other people’s gaze, diverting it from other details.

Her body was stuffed with foam rubber, and her clothes were large and shabby. She sported an heavy and coarse make-up, and she looked much older than her thirty-seven years.

All things considered, she looked like an old whore on the wane, hopelessly longing for a past that will never come back.

Across the table where she was sitting, a man in his fifties started to speak: “My boss requires discretion, you know.”

“Of course, it’s all included.” Even her voice was different, like that of an older woman.

“Well, he is the Mayor, you know … “

“Oh, really?” She feigned surprise; but the truth was that she already knew that. Like she exactly knew who the man talking to her was: Lawrence Terry, private investigator, completely devoid of moral qualms.

“Yes, he has a problem.”

“Who hasn’t?”

“Well, her wife … she has an affair with a younger man.”

“Oh, but I am not a marriage counselor, am I?”

“It would be a bit too late for that, unfortunately. He talked to her, even begged her to ditch that man, but she wouldn’t listen.”

“What about a divorce?”

“You see, my client has a political career before him … a divorce would be harmful; besides, she won’t comply easily, and could give rise to a scandal; she is aiming to the money, of course.”

“I see; and how could I help in this predicament?”

“Well, obviously those two have to … disappear.”

“Mmh, and disappear how? Like, they end up in some faraway island, and live happily ever after, or like, they end up six feet under?”

“Ehm … the latter, I am afraid. But their deaths must look like accidents, or natural causes, of course.”

“Ah! Okay; I think I am the right person, if this is the case.”

“”Good; in this envelope you’ll find every information you may need about them, and the first part of your … fee.”

“Okay, but maybe we need to talk about it again, since I had thought it would have been only one person … not two.“

”So, five million is not enough?”

“Let’s add another two million, I don’t want to be greedy.”

“I think my boss will agree on that. But there is a catch, or more than one, actually.”

“Which is … ?”

“First, you have to inquire if nobody else knows about the affair, and if there are papers, videos, pics that could expose it; and delete everything.”

“You mean, kill every single person that knows about that? It will raise my fee, you know.”

“Hopefully that won’t happen; that bitch had always been very careful.”

“Good, we’ll discuss this again if needed; and the second point?”

“Nobody must know about the affair; hence, they have to die separately, in different places. But obviously the second one must die only a short time after the first; otherwise he, or she, would suspect something, and maybe do something rash, like spilling everything to the press.”

“It won’t be easy; let’s say we could add another million, if you want this perfectly executed; and, let’s say, within the next ten days.”

The man sighed “Okay, I can assure you on that. So, we have a deal?”

“Of course we have.”

“Well, and how do I contact you?”

“Don’t. I will take care of it. Bye.” She left some money on the table, and left.

Terry drew a sigh of relief; that ugly woman was creeping him out; hopefully he wasn’t going to see her again; at least, not alive, he thought with a cruel smirk.

 

Granville, Ohio, April 10th 2017.

Sameen Shaw was an operative of the ISA, meaning Intelligence Support Activity, the secret state agency in charge of dealing with threats to the national security.

And today she was bored. It was over a week that she had “dealt” with the last threat, a band of Russian mobsters trying to smuggle some nuclear material and send it abroad, where it could have been assembled into a dirty bomb.

It had been a funny ride, that one, and she wouldn’t forget soon the unease on Cole’s face when she had killed the bastards in cold blood: the poor guy wants to win a war and stay clean? What a dreamer!

Even funnier was the way she had got rid of the four bodies: under some layers of manure in a farming plant in Ohio. That stuff was swarming with worms, which presented two benefits: the soft tissues of those corpses would have been long gone by the time the remains are found, providing no clues about their identities, and four morons who had always been useless in their lives would have given their contribution to nature, in the form of fertile compost.

A shame Cole was unable to follow her way of reasoning without a shiver.

They were in a shabby bar in Granville, Ohio; since there was not another national threat at present, they were requested to spend some days there, hanging around, just in case: there was always the possibility that other accomplices could show up in that town, looking for their buddies.

“Relax, Cole; we did the right thing.”

“Maybe; but this doesn’t mean we have to enjoy what we did … “

“What we did? You did nothing! I mean, you have tracked them down, you are very good at that; but who pulled the trigger? It was me!”

“Jesus, Shaw, I cannot understand how you can do what you do … “

“What? It’s not like I am the only assassin with the ISA”

“No, but you are the only one that feels nothing about killing people; many of the other colleagues feel sadness, some are insanely excited, but emotions always take a toll on them. The burnout rate in our line of work is pretty high, you know that much … but you are never affected. You could go on killing people forever, and that scares me.”

“Killing bad people, you mean … and why should this affect me, if I know that taking out a bastard will save a lot of lives … and lives of good people?”

“You are right, I’m not saying you should feel bad … but feel nothing? Killing a man is like crunching an insect? That’s absolutely weird.”

“This is bullshit: why should I want to kill an insect? Unless, of course, if it were a mosquito trying to bite me … “

“Yeah, yeah … “

“Well, Cole, this is the way I am. You know why I am not a doctor, don’t you?”

“ I do … the legend of Shaw’s candy bar and the family being told about the death of their beloved father … I think there is no one in the ISA that is unaware of that!”

“I was angry back then, of course, but I am not anymore. I am very good at what I do now, for the same reason they told me I was unfit to be a doctor. So, I am happy this way, but I would understand if you ask to be assigned to a new partner.”

“Hey, I wasn’t saying that! I think I am the only one that can stand your temper.”

“Then shut up and finish your beer; it will taste like piss, if you drink it warm.”

Another hour passed, then Shaw noticed two men, Middle-eastern apparently, who were showing some photos to the patrons, and she perked up: “Cole, it looks like the loose ends we were waiting for are here!”

“Oh … okay, I’ll follow your lead.”

When the two men reached their table, asking if they had seen the people on the photos, Shaw frowned for some seconds, then said: “Of course, they were wandering around here, and we drank something together, had a chat.”

“A chat? About what?”

“Oh, they had something to sell, and were waiting for the buyer; something illegal, I think.” Shaw answered with a knowing smirk.

The two men looked at each other, visibly concerned; she could almost hear their thoughts: ‘Those morons were drunk and didn’t keep their mouths shut; now we must find them and get rid of these two meddlers.’”

But of course they asked instead: “Do you know where they are now?”

“I think so, they had found a quiet place next to a farm.”

“Oh … okay, listen; we don’t know this town and the surroundings; why don’t you lead us to them? We’ll pay you, of course.”

Shaw and Cole knew those morons were well-intentioned to pay them with bullets, but they didn’t know how dangerous she was. She agreed to their offer, ready to make some more fertilizer.


	2. A New Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Root kills her mark. And Shaw is ordered to kill Root.

New York, April 11th 2017, late evening.

Lawrence Terry, after leaving the shady bar where he had met a bunch of even shadier people, was unlocking the door of his apartment, when he heard a shy voice behind him: “Excuse me, I was told you are a private investigator, is that correct?”

He turned around and realized that a beautiful brunette was standing on the stairwell, some steps away, a little smile on her lips. 

Well, this was interesting; he liked underage chicks more, like those he provided to his clients, but this one was really hot. So he answered, smiling back: “I am the best one, actually; come in, any problem you may have, I am here to solve it.”

When inside, she said, with a much harder voice: “Nice to meet you again, Larry.”

“What? I don’t remember you … “

“No? A shame, you just gave me two million dollars to kill two people.” And she drew a silenced handgun from her purse, aiming at his central mass.

“Oh God … it was you?!? Listen, what’s the problem? You can have more, you only have to ask … please.”

“Money is not really an issue for me … but trust is. I know Clara could spill that Charles likes to sleep with minors, and that is the real reason you want her dead. And I know you had in your mind to kill me too.”

“No, it’s not true … please!”

“You knew I am the best, and yet you tried to screw me; how pathetic. I bluejacked your phone the day you contacted me, and listened to all your plans. Do you want to know what is the thing that really pissed me off? That someone thinks he may be better than me at doing this.” 

And with a bullet in his heart, the conversation came to an end. 

 

New York, April 11th 2017, around midnight.

Root had deactivated the alarm system in the house of Charles Morton, the Mayor of New York; she opened the door of the apartment he shared with his wife, Clara, and headed to his bedroom.

He was snoring, so she entered; a small lamp an a chest of drawers was shedding a dim light, allowing her to see him, soundly asleep in his bed, alone. 

A smirk graced her features: of course he kept a light on through the night, he feared monsters; but that was not enough, since a monster had just entered his room regardless. 

She drew a small device out of her pocket, and approached his bed; then she held it over his chest and pressed a button.

He woke up, began to choke, his face turned purple, and a strangled sound escaped his mouth. Then he exhaled his last breath and stopped moving. 

Root left his room, and after a few minutes she used to install some devices, she entered Clara’s room; the commotion in the other room had not awaken her, so Root had to stir her a bit. 

The hacker was wearing a black mask, so when Clara Morton woke up there was a shriek of terror: “God, Charles, help meee!!!”

“Be a dear, Clara, and stay calm! If I had wanted to hurt you, I would have already done it.”

“Who … who are you?”

“I am the woman who is saving your life; you should be grateful.” Root was trying to be nice to this woman, and she managed to soothe her somehow.

“Please … what’s happening?”

“Well, your husband paid me to kill you, but things didn’t go as he planned.”

“What? Why would he do that?”

“Because you found out he was having sex with minors, both females and males, and he was afraid you could spread the news. You should really have been bolder, you know?”

“So, you are a killer?”

“Yes. But I have moral principles; he knew it, so he fabricated a story about an extramarital affair you had.”

“Fabricated?”

“Yes, your lover, Dave Rossini … is an actor whom he hired to seduce you, only to show me that you were the bad guy of this story. I was given an envelope with a lot of information, including some photos showing you and Dave … intimately together, let’s say.”

“Oh, God … he was pretending?”

“Yes, Clara; the sooner you accept that, the better.”

“And how did you realize that?”

“Simply because I am the best in my area of expertise; that’s why Charlie was willing to pay eight million bucks to get rid of you.”

“Wait … where is he now?”

“In his bed; only, his heart is not beating anymore; I might have used a device I designed myself to mess up with his pacemaker … “

“Oh Lord! And … what about me?” Clara was evidently scared now.

“I think you don’t deserve to die; yes, like I said, you should have reported his misbehavior, but I’ll let you live. And the same is true for Dave, as I see it. But not for poor Larry, sadly.”

“Who?”

“Lawrence Terry, the dirty investigator who used to provide fresh human bodies to your hubby, and who was entrusted with killing me too, afterwards.”

“I know him. I guess I am not going to see him again, am I?”

“Unfortunately, no. And now, let’s try to reach an agreement: first, I won’t hurt you, neither now nor in the future, and you will not tell anything about me to anyone; if you do, I’ll know, and you will be sorry.”

“But … the police will find him dead, they will suspect me.”

“They will think he died of natural causes, hopefully. Otherwise, you are allowed to inform them about me; you don’t know my name, and you have not seen my face, so it’s no big deal.”

Clara gulped, and slowly nodded.

“And second, you leave Dave; no need to tell him you know he was a fake. Agree?”

“Okay.”

“Third, I get the remaining six million dollars, and you keep your mouth shut about this.”

“Okay; I will need some time to collect them, though.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I have already hacked into your bank account; I only want you to accept that without raising troubles. And you must, of course, tell the bank management to do the same; they will be only happy not to be held accountable for that loss.”

Clara sighed “You are really the best in your field. It would be foolish to stand in your way.”

 

Granville, Ohio, April 13th, 2017, in the morning

Sameen Shaw and Michael Cole were informed that they had to leave that town, where two other agents, Grice and Brooks, were coming to cover for them. 

They were told to reach New York instead, and get in touch with the local offices of the ISA, and they did.

 

New York, April 13th, 2017, in the evening

The relatively small conference room was almost empty; there was George Hersh, their immediate superior, and another man about Cole’s age: good-looking and bespectacled; a nerd, at first glance.

They sat down, and Hersh introduced the guy as Martin Gates, from the scientific department of the NYPD.

Shaw and Cole had been texted that someone unrelated to the ISA would have been there, so they knew they had to pretend to be on the FBI payroll. 

Then Hersh started: “Two days ago Charles Morton, the Mayor of New York, has been killed … “ 

Shaw interrupted him:”Wait, I heard that he had an heart attack … “

“Yes, officially he died for that reason. But a NYPD detective questioned his wife and felt that something was off, she told his superior, who sent an expert; and this experts happened to be Martin here, who is very good with all that techno stuff.”

Gates smiled at the compliment.

“Given the prominence of the victim, we had to be sure of the cause of death.” Hersh continued.

“Which is?”

Hersh nodded to Gates, inviting him to proceed with the explanation. The man cleared his throat and began: “The Mayor had a pacemaker, and it turned out that someone has messed around with it, using some state-of-the-art device; luckily, my equipments are even more advanced, so I was able to determine that.   
Of course nobody would have noticed in any other case, but the Mayor is not a common mortal, so I examined anything in depth … but there is a thing you should know: the killer is a fucking genius; the device he employed is not for sale, he must have made it himself, and it was something stunning.“

“Why are you saying that?”

“Well, I won’t be coy: only another genius could have designed a device good enough to realize what really happened; and that is me.”

Shaw had a snarky comment ready about that, but Hersh stopped her and thanked Gates, dismissing him.

After the techie had left, Hersh said: “Shaw, I can imagine what you were about to say, but that man is really good, his record is impressive; we really don’t need to make an enemy of him. Maybe someday we’ll have him on our payroll.”

“Whatever. I still don’t get why we are here.”

“To investigate about this death, of course, starting with Clara Morton.”

Shaw snapped “Wait, wait! If the wife is the perpetrator, why are we here, again? It must be something personal, about money or sex. How is the national security involved?”

Hersh sighed “The wife might be the instigator, but not the murderer, we believe. About the national security, you are right, this has probably nothing to do with it. Unfortunately, the Mayor is a friend of Senator Wallis’, who is a friend of the Vice-president’s, so … “

“So, what? There is the FBI or the police for this kind of crap, why us?”

“Shaw, please … the FBI has moral standards, and legal issues, and a lot of rules to follow, while we don’t.”

“Which means, that we have to catch the killer before the police or the FBI does, and we have to kill him?”

“Simply, yes. And make his body disappear.”

“The senator and the Vice-president want revenge, not justice!” Shaw was angry, now.

“Well, Shaw, welcome to politics. And beware, the order comes directly from Control. You are not allowed to fail.”

“Great!”

“And these are your temporary identities: Sameen Crosby and Michael Jessup, FBI.”


	3. You Can Call Me Root

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Root and Shaw get in touch for the first time.

New York, April 14th, 2017, in the morning

Detective Joss Carter was a beautiful black woman in her forties, obviously smart, strong and principled, and Shaw had already taken a liking to her.

“Okay, Joss, can I call you that? Good. Could you tell me what made you suspect Mayor Morton died at the hands of a killer?

“Given the importance of the man, I was sent to investigate, just to be sure. And when I questioned his wife, she was … nervous, anxious.”

“What did she say?”

“She heard commotion coming from her husband’s room, she called him, he didn’t answer, she went and found him dead.”

“So, they had separate rooms, huh?”

“Yeah, not the happiest couple, I guess.”

“But about her nervousness, well, is this really abnormal, when two persons are close, and one of them dies … they were married, after all… “

“Well, this was different: she was showing more fear than grief, let’s say.”

“But again, if she were the perpetrator, she should have felt relieved that her plan had been successful.”

“Maybe she was frightened at the thought of getting caught; but my feeling is different: I don’t think she is the perpetrator, but I believe she knows him, and is afraid of him.”

“Okay, I’ll go and question that woman myself; thank you for your cooperation, Joss.”

“You are welcome, Sameen.”

 

New York, April 14th, 2017, in the afternoon

Root was watching and listening: the bugs and the cameras she had placed in Morton’s house had proved themselves useful: now she was aware that Det. Carter, of NYPD, had suspicions about the cause of death of Mr. Morton: Root had perceived the panic in Clara’s words, and Carter had proven herself much smarter than that failed housewife. 

So, she was expecting a new visit from someone of higher standing than a NYPD cop; FBI, probably; and then it happened.

The doorbell rang, someone was introduced, then Root saw a beautiful brunette and heard a new voice: professional, hot. 

“Agent Crosby, FBI. Ms. Morton, why did you kill your husband?” Well, she wasn’t wasting her time, was she? Root was grinning.

A choked voice: “What? I didn’t kill him!”

“You see, technically you are right, it was a hitman; and he got away with six million dollars, originating from your bank account.”

“God, how … ?”

“How could we notice that? My partner is good at this; he found out that those bucks disappeared, and when questioned the bank management admitted they were told by you to keep the thing in the dark; and the scientific department of the NYPD has proven that your hubby’s pacemaker was electronically manipulated, so … “

Clara breathed out loudly, then said, in a shaken voice: “Okay, I am not guilty, but I’ll tell you everything, even if she told me not to. ”

“She?”

“The murderer … is a woman.”

“How can you know that, if it wasn’t you the one who hired her?”

“After killing Charles, she came to me and spilled a lot of things.”

“Have you seen her face?”

“No, I swear, she was wearing a mask.”

“Was she tall, chubby, what?”

“Tall and slender. She reminded me of a model.” Aww, thank you, Claire, Root thought.

“Huh … really? Okay, what about her voice?”

“Girlish, sexy … “

“I see … what did she tell you?”

“She was hired by Charles, to kill me.”

“Seriously? And she missed the target, you mean?”

“No, she didn’t. She realized Charles had lied to her about the real reason why he wanted me dead … “

“Which is … “

Clara sighed “I found out he was involved in sex with minors; I asked him to stop, but he couldn’t control himself. He was afraid I could expose him, so … “

“Why didn’t she kill you?”

“She said I didn’t deserve to die, while Charles and Lawrence did. Well, she said I should have exposed him, though.”

“Who is Lawrence?”

“Lawrence Terry, an investigator who arranged the meetings between underage hookers and wealthy, dirty people; she told me she had killed him.”

“Ah, okay, we’ll check.” Shaw knew Cole was listening, and he was probably already headed to the address of this new baddie.

“So, Ms. Morton, you are saying this woman is not ruthless, after all, and she murders only bad people?”

“As hard as this is to believe, yes, that’s exactly what I said.”

“And the money … “

“She had hacked into my bank account, got the money, and told me to keep that in the dark.”

“She seems good at what she does, don’t you think?”

“Surely she is confident.”

They were interrupted by the ringing of Shaw’s phone. She apologized and answered: “Agent Crosby, FBI.”

“I don’t think so, Sameen.” 

Fuck! “Who’s speaking?”

“You know that, sweetie.”

“How could you?”

“I have eyes and ears in that house, you know; lucky me, I could see you in the flesh, and I must say I like what I am seeing.”

“Jesus, you are nutty. When I have you inside my crosshair, you aren’t going to flirt so much.”

“Yes, I know why they sent the ISA after me: you catch me, I disappear, right?”

“I am only doing my job. “

“Of course; but haven’t you wondered why I am not meant to go to jail? Maybe I know too much? And you too, now, and Clara … By the way, tell her I am not angry that she told you about me, she didn’t really had a chance to avoid that.“

“Cut the bullshit; you are a killer, and I am going to deal with you.”

“We’ll see, Shaw.”

“How do you know … about me?”

“Oh, that was easy. There is no agent Crosby in the FBI archives; not with your pretty face, at least; and I ran a facial recognition software that provided any information I needed.”

“Why are you calling me? Letting me hear your voice? I could really profit from that.”

“I like a good challenge, Shaw. By the way, you can call me Root.” Then she hung up.


	4. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ISA is almost clueless about Root.
> 
> Root reminds not-so-good old times in Texas.
> 
> HR is after Gen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a flashback about young Root. The purpose is showing why she is a killer who is not that bad.
> 
> There will not be flashbacks about Shaw, simply because she is the same ISA assassin we have seen on POI, so there was no need.

New York, April 14th, 2017, in the evening

They were in another room in the ISA local offices, Shaw , Cole and Hersh. Cole spoke first.

“I tried to analyze that voice, but it was beyond my capabilities, so I cut out the part where she says about you being with the ISA, and took the recordings to Gates: he has the best hardware and software for that purpose, and I must say I am impressed, both by her and by him.”

“Why?” Hersh asked.

“Well, that was not her voice … “

Shaw intervened: “What? It was a normal voice, not a distorted one; when a distorter is used, you realize that: it comes out metallic, weird … “

“Of course,” Cole replied “which means she used something more advanced, which turns a normal voice into another, normal but different.”

“I didn’t know such a thing existed.” Hersh said.

Cole sighed “It shouldn’t exist, actually. Which means that this Root woman churned it out herself. But Gates was able to determine that, and he is working on the voice with a software he developed; he says he could maybe draw near to the original one. We could really use someone like him.”

“So, this recording is partially useless?” Shaw asked, frustrated.

“I wouldn’t say that: we could at least determine where she comes from. The inflexion is not distorted, only the tone of voice.” Cole replied.

“Really? I didn’t hear any inflexion in her voice.”

“You didn’t, but his software did.”

“Okay. So?”

“New York; which could mean either that she was born and raised here, or that she is very good at feigning that.”

“The latter, probably. And about that Terry, what did you find?” Hersh asked.

“I sent a team to his address, and they found him dead, with a bullet in his heart; strangely, it looks like he let his killer in.” Cole replied.

“Not so strange; I am sure she can look like a poor helpless girl if she wants.” Said Shaw, “Were there fingerprints or other clues left in Terry’s house?”

“Nothing. I am afraid she is far too clever to let that happen.” Cole sighed.

Hersh concluded: “Well, we have nothing, basically; maybe, but only maybe, she is one of the eight million New Yorkers. And maybe we know something about her sexual preference, considering all that flirting with Shaw, but again, we can’t be sure. Let’s only hope she makes a mistake soon .”

 

New York, April 15th, 2017, in the evening

Root was sipping whiskey from a glass; the third one, probably. She was a little worried about what Shaw had said: the NYPD had someone very good at all the technical stuff; who could this person be? 

God, was it possibly … ? It took her a few minutes to find the answer, after an online search, and it struck her hard.

Her mind began wandering in the past: today it was the twenty-sixth anniversary of her friend Hanna’s disappearance.

Root remembered far too well what happened: Hanna getting in Trent’s car, the phone call to 911, the librarian scolding her for lying.

But also, she remembered herself setting up Trent Russell, two years later, and having him killed, and sending a message to the FBI about a girl buried under a patio restructured two weeks after Hanna had gone missing.

She also remembered how she felt about humanity, especially adults: she and Hanna had been betrayed by them, and they were only bad code. All of them, she had thought after Hanna had vanished.

But today she had no intention to commemorate those sad events, she had done that far too many times. 

No, today she was going to remember fondly the person who, one year and a half later, gave her a glimmer of hope and restored inside her a bit of trust in mankind. And now, it turned out that man was a danger for her.

 

Bishop, Texas, 22nd September 1992

“Hello; you are Samantha, right?”

They were outside the school, and Sam was headed home. She stared at the boy suspiciously: a couple of years older than her, wearing strangely shaped glasses, shy; he didn’t seem dangerous, so she felt obliged to reply: “Yes; and you are … “

“Martin Gates. I come from New York and I am new in town, and I’m going to stay here about an year, with my family … it’s not easy to make friends, in a new place.”

“I have lived here since I was born, and I have no friends either … you get used to that, after a while.”

“Well, Sam, the thing is that they told me you are a genius with computers and math, and I like these subjects too, so … “

“What? Are you saying that you want to spend time with me?”

“Why not? Let’s give it a try. There is nobody else here who gives a damn about that stuff … if you realize that I am boring, you tell me, and I leave you alone. Simple like that.”

“Where is your house?”

“Do you know old Mary Crowley?”

“Of course.” Samantha knew that Mary was wealthy and lived in the best house of Bishop; she was seventy-five and had cancer, and there was nobody who could take care of her, since her husband had died six months before.

“Well, she is my mother’s aunt, and we will stay here to tend to her until … she dies. The doctors say she can last from four to eight months.”

“Oh; it’s very kind of you.”

“Yes, well, to tell the whole truth, the deal is that she will leave her house to whomever will help her in her last days on this earth, so … “

“I see; does this mean you will live here, after?”

“No, my parents will sell the house, and we’ll go back to New York; but I will spend here the next school year, I guess.”

Sam was a bit uncertain. She didn’t want a new friend, after Hanna, but Martin was likable, so she said yes. 

They hung out for the first time in his house the day after, and Sam was pleasantly surprised; his father had stayed in New York with his little sister, and in the house there were only Martin, the old great-aunt and his mother, who were friendly; and Martin was nice, honest and funny, and good with computers; but he was outstanding with fixing devices of any kind, both mechanical and electric, and he told her that someday he would have invented new ones. Besides, he entertained Sam with tales about New York, making her daydream. 

They met almost every day, and their mothers bonded too. He was teaching her the basics of mechanics and electronics that allowed him to fix complex devices, but also simple appliances, and build simpler ones, and she proved herself a fast learner. She still remembered with pride the day she fixed a neighbor’s fan. In exchange, she taught him complex coding, which she did much better than him.  
They had even cooked up nicknames for each other: she was Puppy Eyes, he was Weird Glasses.  
Sam was smiling more now, but Martin had realized there was a burden on her soul, and asked her what was the cause of that. And she told him about Hanna. He didn’t offer the usual empty platitudes, and said only one word: “Sorry”, and took her hands in his; obviously he meant it, and she was grateful.

 

New York, April 19th 2017

Alonzo Quinn and Patrick Simmons were sitting across a table in the former man’s office.

“How could it happen, Simmons? How was a little girl able to threaten our entire operation?”

“I don’t know, but luckily we have pinpointed her. It won’t be hard to kidnap her, make her spill about those tapes, then get rid of her.”

“I don’t know; how could we make her spill, and be sure there are no other copies around?”

“Well, leave her in my hands, and I swear … “

“What? She is probably clever, she must have a backup somewhere; and she will keep it as a last resort. Maybe there is more than one.”

“There are drugs that make you spill even if you don’t want to.”

“Probably, but they could also kill a twelve years old, and leave us with nothing.”

“What do you suggest then, boss?”

“We must earn her trust; when someone trusts you, there are no more secrets.”

“Well, you just said she is clever; how could we do that? I have information on her, she is Russian, and her grandfather was in KGB; she probably paranoid, and knows cops are not trustworthy in this city.”

“Earning trust is hard, and we have nobody in our ranks who is capable of that. That little brat will not be fooled easily.”

“So … “

“So, we employ someone who never fails, and is very good at fake identities … have you ever heard about Root?”

“Of course. But I heard something disturbing about him.”

“Which would be … “

“He never kills innocent people … much less children, I am afraid.”

Quinn cackled “You don’t believe that, do you? We give him the big money, he does what we want. Besides, he must only make the girl spill, we take care of the rest.”

“Okay, I guess you are right.”

“Of course I am, Simmons. Tomorrow we contact him; do you know how we can do that?”

“No, but I know someone who contacted him before; he never saw Root, though.”

“All right, Simmons, keep me apprised.”


	5. Other Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Young Root understands her sexuality.
> 
> Adult Root meets Simmons.

Bishop, Texas, 12nd November 1992

It happened in the evening, while they were in his room; he told her: “Sam, there is something you should know.” 

He was serious, nervous even, and Sam asked: “Are you leaving sooner than expected?”

“No, it’s not that … Sam, do you consider me a friend?”

“Of course I do! Why are you asking? … Is it that … maybe you don’t consider me a friend?”

“That’s correct, Sam, I don’t consider you a friend … but much more than that. I am afraid I am falling in love with you.”

“Oh!” Honestly, she had not seen that coming. She liked the time spent with him, but had never considered that he might perceive their friendship differently than she felt it.

“Are you scared, Sam? Don’t worry, I had to tell you, because this is how I feel, and I want to be sincere with you; but I won’t push … if you want, we can simply stay friends.”

Sam gasped, and answered stuttering: “So … sorry, I … I don’t know what to sa … say … “

He put a hand on her arm “Sam, please, relax. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable; only, think about it. I will always be for you what you want me to be; okay?”

“Okay … you are a really good friend, and a wonderful person … I don’t want to hurt you … your feelings.”

“It’s all right, Sam. I only want you to be happy.”

 

That night, in her bedroom, Samantha wondered if she could ever love that boy, and touched herself thinking of him , but she was unable to come; it was only when her thoughts were directed at Hanna that she could finally have her release.

After that she wept for the next hour, thinking about her sexuality “God, I am a lesbian, why can’t I love him, why?” Martin was the kindest person she had ever met, maybe kinder than Hanna, and she really cared a lot for him; she could picture herself with him, holding hands, maybe even tenderly kissing, but nothing more intimate. Which meant, of course, that there was no hope to have a life with him. And she wouldn’t have blamed him if he had decided to end their friendship, despite what he had said. 

Anyway, she was immensely grateful to him for helping her understand that mankind as a whole was not “bad code”, that some people are good and worthy. She was still angry, but she realized that her anger had to be selective, focused on the right persons … like Trent Russell.

Then she drifted away, overwhelmed by emotions.

 

New York, April 23rd 2017

Root’s disguise wasn’t the same she had employed when she had met Terry. Her shoulder-length hair was black and straight, she sported sunglasses and her complexion was paler; her mouth had a slightly different shape, and her voice was harder than her real one, these two last features the results of years of painstaking practicing.

Simmons was nervous: he had perceived how dangerous the woman sitting in front of him could be; well, he hadn’t expected a woman, to be honest, but if the job was about earning the trust of a paranoid brat, maybe a woman was perfect.

“So, Officer Simmons, are you saying you don’t need me to kill someone? How disappointing!”

“Well, rest assured you will be paid; but in this case, we have a lot of people that could take care of the “killing” part. What we require from you is more … finesse.”

“I see; I suppose you are not leaving the girl alive after I have retrieved the tapes, are you?”

“You are wrong; we don’t hurt children. Besides, when we have the tapes, all of them, there will be no reason to kill her.” 

Root was sure Simmons didn’t even realize he was the worst liar she had ever met. She decided to play along. “We have a deal, then. And I have a little trick on my mind to earn her trust, but it could require two or three of your men … the most expendable ones, I mean.”

“Well, that’s not how we treat our people; what if we hire some common criminals for that?”

“Okay, but please ascertain they are tough people, who could really hurt a kid; rapists, maybe. This will make our act more believable in the girl’s eyes; but they must avoid hurting her.   
They must abduct her, take her somewhere … private, then I will intervene.”

“How?”

“I kill them, take the girl pretending I am FBI, then I make her spill.”

“They will try to defend themselves.”

“They will, yes; but to no avail. I told you, I am the best in this line of work.”

“Okay; let’s go into details, then.”

Root smiled; that moron didn’t suspect she had bluejacked his phone, and was determined to record all the talks he was going to have with his boss.

 

Bishop, Texas, 19th May 1993

Samantha and Martin had continued to spend time together two or three times a week, but they hadn’t mentioned their feelings for each other anymore.   
Today the girl was determined to talk about it, because she had realized that Martin deserved that much.

“Martin, about what you told me some time ago … about your feelings, I mean … “

“Sam, you don’t have to talk about that, if you aren’t comfortable.”

“But I want to! Please, Martin … “

“Ah, okay then.”

“Martin, do you think it could be possible for us to live together, maybe get married, but without the … sexual part?” Her face was red now; and her question was rhetorical, she knew: a relationship was not complete if that last part was missing.

“Jesus, I hadn’t realized I am so ugly … “ Martin tried to joke.

“You are not, I swear! But I am … oh God … I am a dirty dyke!” Tears were running down her face, and she couldn’t stop sobbing.

Then she looked at Martin’s eyes, expecting to see reproach, disgust, even hatred. But what she saw was kindness and sympathy.

“Don’t … don’t you despise me, now?”

“Why should I? Of course, you could have told me that before, since we are friends. But I understand that it has been hard for you.”

“Oh, Martin, I am so sorry, I don’t deserve you. I think I have been in love with Hanna for a long time, maybe even before she disappeared.”

The main topic that was discussed in Bishop in those days was what had happened to Hanna Frey: a week after Trent Russell had been killed by Mexican mobsters, and everybody had thought that had been a tragic mistake, the FBI had paid his widow a visit, and a little digging in Russell’s patio allowed them to unearth the human remains of Hanna Frey.  
The funeral service had been held three days before, and Samantha had wept uninterruptedly; Martin had accompanied her, of course, and he had realized how much she cared for the other girl. He hadn’t expected this, though.

“You don’t have to apologize for what you are. You are a good person, and you have never hurt anyone. Who cares how you feel about sex?”

Sam shivered. A good person? If only he knew she was responsible for Russell’s death, as well as of the anonymous tip which had led the FBI to his house; she really didn’t deserve him, and he didn’t deserve to be bemired by a bitch like her, so she took a decision.

“Listen, Martin, I know you are leaving next month. I will cherish our friendship forever. But maybe it’s better if we don’t see each other anymore. Please … would you do this for me?“

He was sad, but replied: “If this is what you want, okay. But if you happen to be in New York someday, I’d like to see you again. Remember, in that city people don’t care if you are straight or not.  
I don’t know if you will ever be willing to see me again, but in this case … I have devised a solution: from now on, I will be sitting on the stairs of the Metropolitan Museum on the last Sunday of each month, at six p.m., okay? You will find me there.”

“Okay. And thank you, Martin, for everything.” Then she kissed his lips, briefly, turned around and run away with a lump in her throat.

 

New York, April 24th 2017, in the morning

Shaw had paid Martin Gates a visit in his NYPD lab.

“Well, Gates, you said you were the best in your field, how is it that you can’t give us her real voice yet?”

“It’s worse than I had imagined. You see, if she had used her natural tone, albeit distorted by her device, I could give you a 90 % accurate version. But my software detected some stress indicators that may suggest she was forcing her tone; basically, faking her voice.  
And this could lower said percentage of accuracy to 70, maybe 60 %, depending on her proficiency at doing that.”

“Shit. So you are doing something useless, aren’t you?”

“Probably. Although … I don’t know … “

“What?”

“It’s only a feeling, but that voice reminds me of something; but I don’t know what.”

“You mean, maybe you know her?”

“That sounds farfetched, I get it. I am sure I have never met a killer for hire in my life … let’s forget it.”

“If you have met her, which is highly unlikely, maybe she was not yet a killer. But probably she was already good with computers and designing instruments … does this ring a bell?”

Gates shook his head “No.”

“Oh, and probably she had already realized she was a lesbian.”

Suddenly Gates turned pale, and Shaw noticed. “What’s up, Gates?”

“I … God, it’s impossible. It can’t be!”

“What?”

Gates sighed, evidently shaken “I knew a girl once, good with computers. We were friends, so I taught her to fix appliances and similar stuff. She lived in a small town in Texas.”

“Was she a lesbian?”

“Yes.”

“Did she tell you?”

“Yes, I … was in love with her, and I told her. She was taken aback, but gave me her reply after some months; she cared about me, but she was in love with another girl who, by the way, had been killed.”

“Killed? By whom?”

“A Trent Russell had kidnapped, raped and killed her.”

“So, he was arrested … right?”

“No, he had been killed by some drug dealers coming from Mexico. Some days after that the FBI got an anonymous tip and searched his house, finding Hanna’s body.  
Listen, the girl I knew was kind and sweet, she wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

“Don’t you see, Gates? She set up that Russell, had him killed, then sent the FBI to find her friend’s body, for closure.”

“You must be wrong!”

“Perhaps; if this is the case, you won’t mind telling me her name, will you?”

Gates gave up “Samantha Groves, born and raised in Bishop, Texas, on December, 12th, 1979.”

“Okay; you remember a lot of details about her, Gates.”

“I am married now, and I have two children; but I am afraid a part of me is still in love with her.”


	6. Meeting Gen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Root saves Gen.
> 
> Shaw wants to catch Root, but Gen and Martin want to help her.

New York, April 24th 2017, in the afternoon

 

Genrika Zhirova, Gen for her friends, was scared, more than she had ever been in her twelve years. But she knew she had to avoid panicking; she didn’t know if she was going to make it, but keeping a clear mind was absolutely necessary to increase her chances.

The three men who had kidnapped her were coarse and dirty: low manpower. They didn’t talk to her, and she expected someone of higher standing to arrive and question her about those tapes. She had only to concoct a convincing story.

In the forlorn building where they had carried the girl, they were drinking whiskey, and one of them, Mitch was his name, was particularly fond of sexual innuendos, apparently, so she hoped their boss was on his way.

After half an hour, Mitch was clearly drunk, he was keeping staring at her and contemporarily caressing his crotch, and Gen was really scared.

Suddenly, the door was opened and a woman broke into the room, wielding two guns and yelling: “FBI, you are under arrest.”

The men drew their guns, only to be mowed down by six bullets. 

Root knelt down before Gen and cut her loose, telling her: “I am Augusta King; don’t be afraid, sweetheart, you are safe now.” But Gen wasn’t listening to her: her widened eyes were staring at the blood and brain matter scattered all over the room.

Root had to drag her outside, then into a car. After that, she started the engine and drove away.

A minute after, Root heard Gen’s voice: “You are not FBI.” The girl was studying her features, which were the same of the meeting with Simmons.

“Why do you say that?”

“You were alone; no backup. That’s not how agents operate.”

“Well, if I say I was hanging around alone, saw something suspicious and went to investigate?”

“You killed them; one bullet to the head, another to the heart.”

“What should I say? When I shoot people, I like it better if they stay down.”

“You are not FBI.”

“You are right, I am not. And you are a very smart girl.”

“Who are you, then?”

“I am a killer for hire.”

Gen gasped “Did they pay you to kill me?"

“Actually, no. I had only to make you tell me where those tapes are.”

“I get it; you set me free, I trust you, tell you anything, then you hand me over to them again, and they kill me.”

“Yes, this was their plan.”

“But not yours?”

“No, Genrika. I have never hurt a child in my life; actually, I have never hurt an innocent. And there other kids out there I have to help.”

“How can I believe you?”

“You can’t now, but you’ll see that eventually.”

“Those men … you killed them.”

Root shrugged “They were really bad people, Genrika; their deaths were supposed to make me trustworthy in your eyes, but I had specifically requested three of the worst criminals of the city. Nobody will miss any of them.”

“What is your plan now?”

“I’ll hand you over to Detective Carter; she is really a great cop, and will protect you. You will give her the tapes, while I will handle the big boss.”

“Okay. But aren’t you afraid the police will ask me about you, your features?”

Root smiled and shrugged “Don’t worry, what you see now are not exactly my features.”

“Oh, cool, you could teach me some tricks for my career!”

“Your career?”

“Yes, I want to be an international spy. Can you help me with that?”

“I don’t think so; it’s not healthy for a kid to hang around with a killer for hire. But you should know that, Genrika.”

“Gen. My friends call me Gen.”

Root smiled “Okay, Gen; and you can call me Root.”

 

Forty minutes later, Root and Gen were entering the eight precinct, and asked to see Det. Carter.

Root showed her fake badge “Augusta King, FBI. This is Gen, and these are the tapes she recorded, concerning drug trafficking by an organization of crooked cops, named HR. I am sure you will find this interesting. And please, protect Gen.”

Carter was speechless. Of course she was interested in dealing a blow to HR; those bastards had killed one of her friends, Cal Beecher, so she agreed on everything. 

Unfortunately, Agent King was busy, and she couldn’t stay behind to help. 

One hour later, Alonzo Quinn and Patrick Simmons were killed by a sniper, who had shot through the windows of Quinn’s office, piercing their brains. And Det. Carter got an e-mail from Agent King, with a vocal attachment clearly proving Quinn’s involvement with HR, and another one with a list of names and facts: the other members of HR, and the crimes they had committed.

 

New York, April 27th 2017, in the afternoon

Shaw paid Det. Carter a visit, as FBI Agent Sameen Crosby, of course, and was now in the living-room with the other woman. She inquired about Gen first “How is she doing?”

“Quite well, all things considered. She is strong and smart; and she has bonded with Taylor.”

“You are a famous person now, Joss.”

“Yes, but I find it unfair, honestly, to take credit for this hit; I arrested the bad cops, but I have to thank Gen for that; and agent King, of course.”

“Yeah, about that … do you understand why she disappeared? And have you found out who killed Quinn and Simmons?”

“No, to both questions. I can guess, maybe she was undercover?”

“Do you want to hear my theory, Joss?” 

“Of course, why not?

“Agent Augusta King doesn’t exist; well, this is not a theory, it is a fact.” Carter’s jaw dropped, but Shaw went on “She is Root, the killer for hire who dealt with the Mayor. Her real name is Samantha Groves, and she comes from Texas. And she killed Quinn and Simmons.”

“God, are you sure?”

“Yes, let’s say 90 % sure. One of her friends, Martin Gates, a techie of NYPD whom you certainly know, had met a girl like her more than twenty years ago. He was in love with her, actually.”

“What do you mean, like her?”

“Good with computers, good at fixing and inventing instruments, lesbian. And involved in an act of violence back then, probably.”

“And why has she helped us to take down HR, then?”

“Mmh … I am not sure, but apparently she has … moral standards, let’s say; and she doesn’t kill bad people, much less children.”

“I see; but you are after her nonetheless, aren’t you?”

“I follow orders; and killing bad people is still a crime; she is not a law-abiding citizen, that’s for sure.”

“You are right; but how can I help you?”

“What do you remember about her?”

“Let’s see … she had dark hair … “

They were interrupted by Gen, who had joined them “Agent Crosby, do you really intend to catch her?”

“Does this bother you, kiddo?” Shaw asked.

“She saved me. And she told me she only hurts bad people.”

“And you believed her?”

“Yes; she was kind to me, and I am sure she didn’t lie.”

“Well, Joss, it looks like our killer is making friends.” Shaw concluded.

 

Shaw spent another hour in that house; Gen was elated; she had the opportunity to talk with a professional spy, well not a spy actually, but someone who had the right skills and could teach her a few things.

Shaw was surprised by how much she liked to stay there with that little girl, and was angry that someone had tried to hurt her; she was beginning to understand Root, maybe.

 

New York, April 28th 2017, in the afternoon

Gen was sitting on a bench outside the laboratories of the Scientific department of the NYPD, waiting for Martin Gates. At six p.m. she saw a man who matched the description made by Carter.

She approached him, calling him by his first name “Martin!”

He looked at her, frowning “Do I know you, young girl?”

“No, but we have a common friend.”

“And this would be … “

“Samantha Groves.”

“Oh, my! How do you know her?”

“She helped me. No, that’s not accurate: she saved my life. She is not a bad person, believe me!”

“My God … yes, I believe you; who are you, by the way?”

“I’m Gen. Listen, Martin, we must help her. They want to catch her, maybe kill her, but she doesn’t deserve it.”

“I am sure she doesn’t. But what can we do to help?”

“We’ll figure it out. But someone could see us, if we stay here. Let’s find a hidden place.”

“Hidden? You have read too many spy-stories. Let’s say somewhere more private.” And he lead her to a little diner, where they ordered two hot chocolates.

Gen resumed the conversation: “Is there a way for you to contact her? She needs to be warned.”

“How? I didn’t even know she was in New York!”

“Think of something that only you two are aware of. A secret sentence, a riddle … “

“I can think of something; the problem is to let her have the message; mmh … Yes, it can work.”

“What?”

“The less you know, the better. Let’s only say I’m going to use my IT skills.”

“Cool! Who taught you?”

“A genius: Samantha Groves.”


	7. Root And Shaw, Face To Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaw sneaks up on Root; oh wait, it’s the other way around.

New York, April 29th 2017, in the morning

Nobody in the IT community was able to understand what had happened with this weird virus, dubbed “Weirdo”, which had popped up in a lot of computers, mainly those without an up-to-date protective software. It had no long term damaging effect, since there was a simple line appearing onscreen, lasting five seconds, and nothing else.  
The line was: “From Weird Glasses to Puppy Eyes: I need to see you, you know where and when.”

 

New York, April 30th 2017, in the afternoon

The day after, in the afternoon, Martin had asked Det. Carter the permission to take Gen to meet his family, and she had agreed. Gen had immediately bonded with Mark, 9, and Jenny, 13, especially when the two children had been informed that Gen was the famous girl who had been kidnapped by HR, and had contributed to send that organization to jail.

At a quarter to six p.m. Martin announced he was talking a walk, and asked who would come. Her wife Mary didn’t join him, the three kids did.

They were sitting on the stairs of the Metropolitan Museum, eating ice-creams, when a youngster with a skateboard under his arm approached them, asking: “Are you Martin Gates?”

“Yes.”

“Good; this is for you.” And he handed him a burner phone. What they couldn’t know was that the boy had a weird electronic instrument in one of his many pockets, and said instrument had been activated when he had approached the small group.

“Oh, thank you, let me give you some dollars … “

“No need, thanks, that lady has already paid; bye.” And he darted away on his skateboard.

The phone rang, and Martin answered: “Hello.”

“Is it really you, Martin? Lord in Heaven, how long … ?” Root couldn’t continue, overwhelmed by emotions.

“Samantha … oh dear. How are you? Listen, I wanted to warn you, they know your name; my fault, I am afraid. Please, run away, leave this place, go abroad … I think someone wants you dead.”

“I know, Martin. Maybe I deserve to die, but I can’t get away now; there are kids in danger, and I must save them.”

“I’d like to see you in the flesh, you know.”

“I’d like that too, but I don’t want to risk a bullet in my head, so it’s better this way.”

“What? I would never … !”

“I know, I wasn’t referring to you. Listen, Martin, when this is over, if I am still alive, we will meet again, I promise.”

“Wait, Sam!”

“Goodbye, Martin, and say hi to Gen for me.” And she hung up.

 

Sitting behind the wheel of her van, Sameen Shaw was partially disappointed. Her idea, sticking a bug inside Gen’s jacket, had paid off; she had correctly judged that Gen was willing to help Root, and that had been proven true. She was feeling a pang of guilt, though.

And when Gen had reached out to Martin, she had bluejacked his phone, so they had Root’s true voice, but Root was too clever to show up in person. 

Now what? She took a look at Cole, who was in the rear analyzing the call; then he said: “She is next to the hot dog vendor; I overheard someone requesting more mustard … “

Shaw picked up her binoculars and looked immediately in the direction of the vendor; a lanky brunette was getting away, but she could couldn’t see her face; she had long brown hair and long legs; and, Shaw couldn’t help noticing, a great ass, so she muttered: “That bitch is hot; as seen from behind, at least.”

Root boarded a cab, so Shaw started the engine and followed her. Her transport stopped before a hotel, which Root entered.

Shaw parked, then she sent Cole, whom Root didn’t know, probably, and he followed suit, went to the reception and saw her getting to the elevators with the key of room 342.

Then he went back to the van, and informed Shaw, but warned her: “Listen, I don’t even know why you haven’t told Hersh of this operation. And I shouldn’t be here. What do you want to do?”

“It’s okay, Cole, I’ll tell Hersh when I have her. And you are right, you shouldn’t be here, so thank you, you can go.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But I did; and from now on it’s going to be easy, I can do this alone.”

“Don’t underestimate her, Shaw.”

“Trust me, I don’t. See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, but listen … “

“What?”

“Well, you heard her, she said she wants to help some kids who are in danger … maybe she is not too bad.”

“Are you saying I should let her go?”

“At least catch her and listen to what she has to say … There is always time to pull the trigger.”

“You are too soft, Cole. Just let me do my job.”

 

New York, April 30th 2017, about midnight

Root had not left her hotel room since she had entered it. Shaw had used the restroom of the ground floor, then she had hidden herself in a closet nearby, and had waited. 

Then, she slipped out and reached the stairwell, getting slowly and silently to the third floor.

There was no light filtering from under the door of Root’s room, and Shaw picked the lock. When inside, she heard a faint noise coming from the bathroom; apparently, Root was having a shower.

Shaw approached that door, put her hand on the knob, and suddenly an electric jolt run through her body, dropping her to the ground.

Then she saw the other woman, coming out from the bathroom; she was fully dressed, obviously she wasn’t showering, but waiting for her; her first thought was “God, she tricked me.”

Root was now holding a cloth, clearly with the intention of putting it under Shaw’s nose. She only managed to look up to see the other woman’s face. Her second and last thought before losing consciousness was “God, she is gorgeous.”

 

Shaw didn’t know how much time she had been out cold. She woke up in bed, with her right hand zip-tied to the headboard, and a smirking Root staring at her.

“How do you feel, Sameen? Sorry about that, but I couldn’t let you end my life, could I?”

“You have set this up; you talked to Martin until you heard a customer saying something concerning that vendor. You have made me follow you … it was a trap! You are really good, Samantha” Shaw’s voice oozed with admiration, in spite of herself.

“Yes. And I also had a confirmation that you had bugged Gen or Martin when a little device noticed that; the boy I sent to them had it in one of his pockets.”

“Okay, you won. Now what?”

“You know, I could kill you, but I won’t, on two conditions.”

“Which would be … ?”

“First, I have something to say to you, and I want you to hear me out, and second, you agree on a twenty-four-hours truce.”

Shaw sighed “Okay, deal.”

“Word of honor?”

“I said: deal!”

“Okay, Shaw. Back to business, then.” And she drew a knife and cut her loose. Then she asked “Do you mind if I lie down beside you?”

Shaw shrugged “Okay, just don’t touch me.”

“Of course. So, let me tell you something about a prostitution ring, involving minors and some powerful politicians.”

“How did you find it out?”

“When I am contacted by someone for a hit, I always check the story they tell. I hack their computers, bluejack their phones … this kind of stuff. And when they ask me to kill an innocent, or they lie to me, I politely refuse. But when children are involved, like it happened with Genrika, I don’t stand back.”

“What are your intentions about that?”

“I have collected a lot of clues, e-mails, phone calls; but nothing conclusive; and with the lawyers those bastards can afford … it may come to nothing. It might ruin their political careers, though, but they deserve something worse than that.”

“So … “

“So, I want to record them while they are … having sex with youngsters, then upload the videos on You tube, to be seen by anyone. Blurring the minors’ faces, of course.”

“And how do you plan to do that?”

“With your help, of course. I am sure FBI Agents Sameen Crosby and Augusta King can have access to the houses of those important men. Are you in?”

“One-day truce, you said. We need a longer one to do this.”

“Yes. So, I’d say that after the truce has expired, you will let me know if you want still to kill me, or help me to save those kids. Or, save the kids first, kill me later.”

“I’ll think about it. Can I go now?”

“If you want. But you can stay as well.”

“Why should I want to stay? We already have an agreement.”

“Well, I read your file, you know.”

“My ISA file? Jesus, you are really a good hacker; I haven’t seen it myself.”

“Yes, and you should know that your employers rely on telltales to fill it. Heavily.”

“What did you read?”

“Simply that you have been dating a lot of colleagues through the years, none of them for a long time. Both males and females.”

“So?”

“So, you are obviously bisexual.”

“And … “

“And, I am a lesbian … “

“Are you saying, you want to have sex with me?”

“Exactly. I noticed how you were looking at me … I am sure you like me.”

“Well, you are hot, how could I deny it? But if you think that after having sex I will change my mind about how to deal with you, you are wrong.”

“I know, you are a sociopath and you don’t have feelings. Hence, why not?”

Shaw slowly nodded “You are right; why not?”


	8. The Alliance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Root and Shaw join forces to take down the ring.

New York, May 1st 2017, in the morning

Shaw woke up and suddenly remembered where she was: in a soft bed in a hotel room, where she had had great sex with Root; well, amazing sex, probably the best of her life so far.  
She had liked everything: Root’s scent, her flavor, the softness of her hands.  
And she liked that she was a smart, strong woman, just like Shaw was.

She turned her head to see her lover, still asleep, and suddenly felt breathless. Root looked younger, innocent, and unbelievably beautiful. Shaw knew the other woman was a murderer, albeit not the worst one, and she couldn’t get why she was feeling like she had to protect her, to keep her safe. “Fuck, maybe I will be the one who takes her life, I must stop brooding.” Yet she couldn’t help but keep staring at her features.

When Root woke up, some minutes after, she saw Shaw staring at her, and smiled “Hey, Sameen.” And she cupped her face and kissed her softly.

Shaw’s mind was in a turmoil; when Root had smiled she was struck by how beautiful she was, and she didn’t resist, letting her kiss her; actually, she even reciprocated; but she had never let anyone kiss her if it was not related to sex, so she had a feeling that she was entering uncharted waters with this woman. 

Root interrupted her thoughts “Really, Sameen, you don’t seem so devoid of feelings like you keep saying.”

“No, no … you are wrong. It’s only … God, you are so beautiful when you smile … damned, I am screwed.”

“Well, I did screw you a lot tonight, do you remember? And you liked it.” Root said while gently caressing Shaw’s skin.

“Yes, I liked it … obviously I like … you, physically, I mean; but I don’t do feelings, love, cuddling, all that stuff.”

“Oh, but I am caressing you right now. Why aren’t you stopping me?”

Shaw sighed “I don’t know … this is new for me; but I don’t dislike it. And I trust you.” 

“So, are you with me to take the bastards out?”

“I am with you, on one condition: when this is over, you stop killing people, change identity and then go somewhere safe.”

Root had a little smile “How sweet that you care so much. You know, there have been very few people who cared about me: my mom, Hanna, Martin, you; maybe Gen.”

“Please, it’s not that I care about you; how could it be, I have met you only some hours ago. Only, I think you don’t deserve to die; and above all, I don’t want to be the one who pulls the trigger.”

“Okay, Sam. Keep saying that. Now, what do you think if we have another round of amazing sex, then we lay out plans for our little FBI act?”

“As I said, I am in.”

 

New York, May 1st 2017, in the afternoon

Senator Wallis was a good-looking man in his mid-fifties, and he looked annoyed; he was an important man, after all, why should he be happy to waste his precious time with a couple of FBI agents? Well, these two were hot, at least, but he had other preferences. Besides he had been assured that only that secret agency, the ISA, would have handled the case, no loose ends left behind.

“As I said, ladies, I have no information about who killed my dear friend, Charles Morton, so we all are probably wasting our time here.”

Then Shaw spoke: “Senator, we are not FBI, we are ISA; our fake badges are only a cover.”

“Oh … okay then, what can I do for you?”

“My colleague here has an instrument in her duffle bag which can indicate if someone has put bugs somewhere in your house.”

“Oh … you think it may have happened?” He had paled visibly.

“Not likely, but if you let us take a look around … “

“Of course, let me know if you find something.”

“Okay, let’s do this: Agent King performs a check up of the house, and we have a talk here on some issues.”

“Yes … actually my servants are away at present.”

“It’s not a problem, Sir. My colleague can fend for herself.” Of course they had chosen an hour when they knew the Senator was alone. 

So Root was able to install a lot of tiny cameras in the bedrooms, while Shaw talked with the Senator. Root informed him that there was not a single bug in the whole building, and he was visibly relieved..

After half an hour they went away, satisfied. 

 

New York, May 3rd 2017, in the late evening.

Senator Wallis was single, so no one was asking him why two youngsters, one male and one female, both fourteen approximately, had been ushered into his house so late in the evening.

Root and Shaw were in one of the hacker’s houses in New York. She had bought three of them, small, relatively cheap and discreet. The two women were watching on a computer screen what was happening in one of Wallis’ bedrooms.

Shaw was disgusted and looked away, noticing that Root was silently weeping. Acting on impulse, she touched the other woman’s arm, but she immediately stepped back.

Root looked at her, understanding that Shaw wanted to give her some comfort, although her own actions scared her a bit. She smiled nonetheless “Thank you, Sameen.”

“That swine reminds you of the man who killed your friend, Hanna.”

“Yes. And now we have what we need to bury him for good.”

“Metaphorically, you mean.”

“I won’t kill him, I promise.”

What Root did was to send the video to Wallis as an e-mail attachment, with a request to meet him the day after.

 

New York, May 4th 2017, in the afternoon

Wallis was livid. Root was sitting in front of him, in his living-room.

“You are not an ISA agent.”

“I am the killer who was paid by Morton to kill his wife.” Wallis paled. “But I had a better offer; can you make a good offer too?”

“What do you want?”

“Money, of course. You should know that you were going to pay for your bad habits; sex with minors, how disgusting is that?”

“You don’t understand, it’s an impulse I cannot control. How much do you want?”

“Forty million dollars. And don’t tell me you don’t have them, I have already checked.”

“God, I can’t! Yes, I could scrape them up, but I would be ruined.”

“There is an alternative, if you are interested … “

“Yes, anything you want!”

“You give me all the names: the other powerful men with the same … sexual preferences, those who provided the kids, and the kids themselves.”

“Why do you want those names?”

“To blackmail the wealthy, of course. And the dealers, as well as the kids, could give me more names of rich people to blackmail.”

“You are really greedy, do you know?”

“Thanks for the compliment, Senator. So, those names?”

“I’ll give you every name I have.”

“Tell me then, I’ll take note.”

An hour later the videos of Senator Wallis having sex with minors and of the same man confessing his impulses and accusing other powerful people were online, and weirdly every time someone tried to erase them they were uploaded again.  
Those men went under investigation, of course, but not Wallis, who had shot himself after watching his performances on his computer screen.

 

New York, May 6th 2017, in the afternoon

Hersh was pale, unkempt and with red eyes. Cole, the only other person in that room of the ISA New York headquarters, had never seen him so distraught.

“Cole, we have a problem.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“Shaw is the problem; she went after that Root unofficially, then she didn’t kill her. On the contrary, they joined forces to threaten national security.”

“How do you know that?”

“Senator Wallis had called Control after welcoming a visit from two ISA agents: Root and Shaw.”

“And the threats to national security, you mean, are the investigations under way.”

“Yes, the credibility of our Government is irredeemably tarnished; The Vice-president, other politicians, powerful businessmen have been overwhelmed by this scandal. The nation is weaker now, as a result of the actions of those two … I don’t even know how to call them.”

“Maybe, defenders of innocent children?”

“I am not in the mood, Cole. Anyway, Control has already made her decision: Shaw and Root must die.”

Cole swallowed hard, but tried to feign indifference “Oh; and why are you telling me?”

“She’s not answering her phone; you are her partner, you should probably know how to contact her.”

“Yes, I can do that. But what should I tell her? Come here, Control wants to reward you, there is a gold medal ready … she is not so stupid, you know.”

“I know. What you have to do is call her and decide a place, somewhere isolated of course, to meet her and that Root woman. Then you inform us.”

“And you send a team after them.”

“No, it won’t be necessary. There is someone, in that bunch of people under investigation, who has more than five billion dollars and a huge desire for revenge. So he hired a team of eight professional killers. We have a deal with them, so we only need to pass them the information, and they will take care of the nuisance. The only ISA operative involved will be you, of course. You are our bait.”

“Okay, I’ll let you know, then.”

“No, Cole. You are her partner, so we cannot risk that you have … moral qualms about her. You simply call her, from here, as we listen, and you will not try to warn her. If you behave, you stay with us; if you don’t, you go with her. Underground.” Hersh deadpanned.

Cole shrugged “No problem. Where is the meeting point?”


	9. Did They Die In The Blast?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A team of villains is sent after Root and Shaw.

New York, May 6th 2017, in the late afternoon

In her house, Root was reading what the most important news websites had to say about the scandal, then she closed her laptop, addressing Shaw, who was sitting on the couch. “I have had enough. The gear is in motion, no need for us to do anything. They are screwed.”

“Are you sure? They can afford high-end lawyers, you know.”

“Their careers are in pieces. And if one of them will be able to avoid conviction, I’ll be there. We won, Sameen.”

“So, our truce is over … “ Shaw smirked.

“Yes … what do you want to do with me now?”

“I think I’m gonna fight you. Just not here.”

“Oh … and where, then?”

“I’d say … in your bedroom.” And she kissed Root roughly, dragging her where she intended to put on the fight.

 

After an hour of sex they were peacefully lying next to each other; at a certain point, Root reached for Shaw’s hand and intertwined their fingers together. Shaw wanted to tell the other woman that that was not her thing, that she felt uncomfortable, but she didn’t. Strangely, that felt right, and Shaw was beginning to have doubts about her diagnosis on her personality disorder. 

She turned her head towards Root, and couldn’t help kissing her bare shoulder. Root looked at her, surprised, and whispered: “I love you too.”

Shaw froze; things were getting out of control quickly. “Root, listen; how can you say that? We have met a few days ago … “

“So what? I feel happy when I am with you, and sad when you are away; and the sex is the greatest I have ever had. This is what I consider love.”

“Root, I don’t think I can love, but … I can’t deny that you are one of the most important persons in my life, now. And I have just met you. I can only wonder how much more you will matter to me the next month, or the next year, if we are still together, I mean … “

“Of course we will be; we belong together, Sameen, that’s pretty clear to me.”

Their conversation was cut off by a phone call. Shaw sighed “It’s my partner. What’s up, Cole?”

“Hello, Shaw. We have to talk.”

“Spit out, then.”

“Not on the phone; besides, I have something to give you, so we must meet.”

“Where and when?”

“Tomorrow morning, nine o’clock, in an abandoned warehouse in Jersey City; I’m sending you the coordinates.”

“Okay, see you.”

“Take care, Sameen.” And he hung up.

Shaw frowned, so Root asked her: “Do you think it could be a trap?”

“I am sure it is.”

“Really? How do you know?”

“Cole called me Sameen only once in his life, and I almost broke his nose; later, I told him not to do that anymore, under penalty of death. This is his way to tell me there is something wrong.”

“Oh … but you let me call you Sameen all the time.”

“Well, I guess you are special.”

“Mmh … okay, but now let’s get back to business: we must figure what to do tomorrow; because I may have some ideas, but we need to hurry.”

“Okay, you can explain while we go.” And they began to dress. 

 

New York, May 7th, in the morning

Gen was pleading “Please, Joss, I am sure she is in danger. Let’s go to Martin’s place, pick him up and then we spy on that Cole. He is the co-worker of Agent Crosby, who wants to catch Root. I like her, but I don’t like what she wants to do, and she is nowhere to be seen, so we must follow Cole.”

“How do you know your friend Root is in danger?”

“When she saved me she talked about other kids she had to help. I am sure she is the one who exposed that Wallis and those other pigs. They aren’t letting her get away with it, and they are powerful.”

“Listen, Gen, this is not a game a kid can play. What could you do to help her, anyway?”

“I don’t know, I could warn her. Or anything else which will come to my mind. Please! You owe her so much too!”

Carter sighed “Okay, Gen, I’ll go with Martin, hoping he is at home.”

“Of course we’ll find him at home; it’s Sunday!”

“Right; but you stay here, it’s too risky for you.”

Gen pouted, then she went to her room, got in then locked the door.

Carter did as she had said: went to Martin’s house, picked him up and they waited for Cole outside the ISA offices, which they believed were the FBI offices.

When Cole drove away from the building, and Carter was about to start the engine, Martin noticed a van following Cole’s car. The man driving it had the most perfect rascally face they had ever seen; so they decided to follow the van.

 

After an hour Cole had reached the warehouse where he and Shaw were supposed to meet. He hoped she had understood there was something off in his call, and that she wouldn’t come. 

He entered the building, finding it completely empty, then his phone rang. He answered hesitantly, as he knew the ISA and the hitmen who had followed him could hear the conversation.

“Shaw? You are not here.”

“You know me, Cole, I am a bit paranoid. We are in another warehouse, three hundred yards north of where you are now.”

“Okay, I am on my way.” Cole began to walk, heading north, and cursed silently; he had hoped the two women would have been on a plane by now but unluckily that didn’t seem to be the case, as he could see them peeking out from a large window of this second warehouse, which was a much smaller one than the other.

Then he suddenly heard a series of shots, the window was shattered and the two women fell down.

Seconds later, he was reached by eight heavily armed men, and their boss told him: “Okay, get away now, we will handle this.” Seven of them got inside the building, obviously to dispose of the bodies; one stayed outside, thirty yards apart.

Cole turned around and walked away, shocked. Then he heard a very strong explosion, and he was thrown to the ground; the warehouse had exploded, and no one inside of it could have survived. The man who had stayed outside was lying on the ground, motionless.

Cole slowly got up, shocked, trying to understand if he was hurt, but there was no serious bodily damage. He had to call an ambulance, so he took his phone; but it was broken, which meant that he couldn’t call, but also that Hersh couldn’t hear him. 

Then he saw a black woman coming towards him, running and with a gun in her hand; she was accompanied by that NYPD techie, Martin Gates. And a red-haired girl was behind them.

The woman introduced herself as Det. Carter; she asked him what happened, and he answered that Root and Shaw were in the warehouse that had just exploded, with a team of hitmen.  
Meanwhile, Carter asked Gen how she was there, and Gen answered that she had locked the door of her room, then she had gone out through the window, and she had hidden in the rear of the car, crouching down to stay undetected.

The girl was furious with Cole “You lured them into this trap!”

“I tried to warn them, I swear.” Then they heard a shot and the hiss of a bullet passing a few inches from Gen’s head.

They realized that the man outside the warehouse, although hurt, had rallied, and was trying to kill them. He was about eighty yards away, and had a rifle, while Carter had only a handgun, and they were in open ground. It was a matter of seconds before someone would be lethally shot.

But then another shot was heard, coming from the opposite direction, and the criminal fell to the ground with a hole between his eyes.

They saw two women coming out from another building, rapidly joining them. The shorter one was carrying a sniper rifle.

When the two groups were only a few steps away, Martin shouted: “God, Samantha, is it really you?”

“Yes, Martin. And I am sorry for everything.” They both had teary eyes. 

Cole uttered: “I saw you two in that warehouse, seconds before the blast!”

“Calm down, Cole, you saw two dummies; dressed like us, with a nice make-up, but nothing more.” Shaw replied, adding: “If that moron hadn’t survived, we would have disappeared, but we couldn’t let him hurt you.”

Det. Carter cleared her voice “Well, people, that’s what happened: the two women were in that warehouse, and didn’t want to be caught alive, so they mined the place; the timer was triggered when the door was opened, probably; as a result, they died in the explosion, dragging to hell a team of really bad criminals with them. A luck that I was going on a road trip with Gen and Martin, and we could witness everything. That’s what I saw, and I am sure you saw that too”

Gen and Martin nodded for confirmation, and so did Cole. 

Carter talked again: “A shame. I am sure this Root would have put an end to her career as a hitwoman, had she survived.” And she said that with a stern look pointed at the hacker, who nodded, smiling.

Root said: “Thank you, to all of you. We are officially dead now, so we have to move away before anyone else can see us; we’ll disappear, but we will contact you when things are safer.”

Gen shouted: “Root, Crosby, will we meet again? And will you teach me some tricks of yours?”

“Sure thing, sweetheart!” Root answered.


	10. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Root and Shaw get married; their friends are invited.

Honolulu, September 8th, 2017, in the afternoon

Root and Shaw were at the airport, waiting for some people; as soon as Root, being the taller one, located them, she waved her hand, and they replied accordingly.

They were all there: Cole, Joss and Taylor Carter, Martin Gates and his family. The two women greeted them, then led them to the parking lot of the airport, and they drove them to a luxury hotel, where they checked in; except for Gen, who would stay at their villa.

 

Honolulu, September 8th, 2017, in the evening

Some hours later, Joss had come to the villa to have a talk with the two women. She and Root were outside, in the garden, while Gen was inside, with Shaw.

In the living-room, Gen was grinning like an idiot “So, your name is not Crosby; it’s Shaw.”

“Now I am Sameen Ortega, Gen.”

“And tomorrow you are changing your name again!”

Shaw sighed “Yeah, I’ll take hers; tomorrow I will be Sameen Dyson, wife of Samantha Dyson.”

“Do you love her?”

“Not an easy question; I am not great at feelings, but, you know, I think I have met a person who has made my life better, in more ways than one; and I want this for the rest of my life.”

“That sounds like love to me.”

“Ah … yes, maybe. But Gen, we have something to tell you.”

“Really?”

“Yes, come on, let’s join the others in the garden.”

 

Outside, Root and Carter were sitting under a palm, and it was obvious that the black woman had many questions.

“Nice house, Samantha. Being a successful hitwoman has its perks.”

“Actually, Joss, I bought it with the only money I had earned honestly.”

“Really?”

“Really. A big IT security firm had boasted of having the best protection system in the world, and had challenged hackers from all over the world to violate it, offering one million dollars as a prize.”

“And you did it.”

“Yes, I always like a challenge; it wasn’t easy, but I did it. And that money bought this villa.”

“And the rest of your money, if I can ask?”

“To charity. Those little poor boys and girls involved in that ring back in New York, well, they won’t need to sell their bodies anymore.”

“And that donations to pediatric hospitals I heard about … “

Root sighed “That money was blood-soaked; I like to think that giving it for a good cause will wash those stains away.”

Carter nodded, smiling “Yes, I am sure it will. By the way, thanks for paying us two weeks of holidays here. Out of curiosity, how do you make a living here?”

“The IT sector pays a lot, if you are good at it.”

“And Shaw … “

“Shooting range instructor.”

“That’s good for her, I guess.”

Root nodded, then asked: “Have you thought about Gen?”

“Of course I have. You know, when it was declared she was not in danger anymore, she should have returned to live with that junkie, Vadim; but I couldn’t let her go, so he sued me; not that he loved her, but he needed the money he used to get for keeping her. So I paid him to drop it.”

“I will refund you.”

“Not a chance. I have never been so happy to spend some money! Anyway, now I am officially her guardian.”

“You are really a great cop and a wonderful person, Joss!”

“If Shaw hears that, she’ll be jealous. Back to business, now. My answer is yes, I have no objections; if Gen agrees, of course. Which she will do, she talks about you two uninterruptedly.”

“Agree on what?” Gen and Shaw had reached them, and the girl had heard the last words.

Root addressed her: “Gen, sweetheart. You know that tomorrow I am marrying Sameen, starting a new family.”

“Yes … “

“And you know a family is not such without children.”

“Oh!”

Root smiled; obviously Gen was getting it. “Of course, we could try artificial insemination, but … we thought that we already knew a kid who could be perfect for us.”

Gen’s smile was radiant “You want to adopt me?”

“Yes, if you are okay with that … “

“Of course I am!”

 

Three hours later, in their bed, Samantha Dyson and her future wife had sex, and after that they lied side by side.

Sameen said: “This is the last time we have sex as free women, do you realize that?”

Samantha smiled “My heart has not been free since the day I met you.”

The other woman rolled her eyes “Always sappy, aren’t you?”

“Let’s say more … poetical. I’m about to marry the woman I love, so … “

“Yeah, about that, listen … “

“Mmh?”

“I don’t want to tell you the three words yet … because they wouldn’t be true; do you understand me? I am saying that I respect you too much to say ‘I love you’ only to make you happy.”

“I appreciate that, Sameen.”

“What I want you to understand is that, when the time comes that I say those words, well … I will mean them.” Shaw was embarrassed, but continued, in a low, almost shy voice “And judging by how I feel about you, more and more as the days pass, it won’t be long.”

“You know how to make a girl feel special, Sameen. I look forward to that moment.”

But this is another story.


End file.
